


All He Is

by greenJeanKirstein



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Declan is poetic af in his thoughts, Implied/Refrenced Violence, Jiang has a switchblade, M/M, POV Second Person, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7091602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenJeanKirstein/pseuds/greenJeanKirstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many things Declan feels about Jiang. One night he organises his thoughts. Jiang has so many sides, a good side that pulls Declan in, a side that crushes Declan like a bug. He's crude, he's raw, he's delicate. He's all that.</p><hr/><p>He's as sharp as the switchblade he carries. He is raw and crude and for once in your life you welcome the pain as an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All He Is

He's as sharp as the switchblade he carries. His smile is as sharp as his voice that cuts through your thoughts every time you get lost in them. His face, his body, are a morass of sharp, crisp lines that blur and move around freely in your dreams, taking the shape of a ghost that follows you, of a monster that devours you, of a God that blesses every second you spend with him. Sometimes you wonder if he's all of those things with sickly sharp contrasts of dark circles under his eyes, the blinding white of his teeth and the red of his blood that pours from his nose after fights.

 

He is a storm and you're the boat on the sea. He's the tide and you're a ship. He draws you in like a siren would, his voice luring you deeper into the ocean. There is something ethereal about him that allures you. You're no more than a helpless sailor, doing his bidding and answering to his call. All you want is his time and his body and him. You want to be on top of him, to take in all of his glamor and to kiss him until your lips hurt. You want him to loom over you, for him to devour you with his dark eyes, his mouth and his body.

 

He is raw and crude and for once in your life you welcome the pain as an old friend. He hurts as much as his shiny blade does, pressed against your side, digging in and in and under your ribs. His touch is electrifying and you feel yourself burning from the heat of it. He is as fiery as the flames that lick at the things he no longer has a need from; he is as cold as the tundra where nothing grows or lives.

 

His words hurt your heart, no matter if they come out as a barked order, a whispered affection or a cry of pleasure. His presence hurts your eyes - you've never seen something that is so beautiful and crude at the same time. The curses he spits feel like teasing kisses that press against your ears; the way he praises you makes your whole body quiver more than a man with a gun pressed against your temple ever could.

 

He's delicate like porcelain. His body, his face, his facial expressions are full of little cracks that run over his skin like spiders' webs. One day he will break in your arms, he will shatter into thousands of minuscule pieces and you won't be able to put him back together. You won't be the glue that fixes him. No matter how hard you try, you will not be the one he needs. You won't even be the one he wants.

 

He is the bullet that kills you over and over again. You welcome death with open arms and a warm smile on your face; your lips form his name like a prayer as he enters your body. Each time you're with him, you find yourself wondering if you're alive or dead or simply dreaming, simply stuck between the living and those who dwell elsewhere.

 

Maybe you've always been dead. Maybe he's just a reflection of your deepest, darkest desires. Maybe he is your brain playing a trick on you, trying to make you think there was someone you had, someone you loved. Someone who loved you. With him, you do not care. With him, time and place does not matter. With him you give yourself over to him. You give yourself over to the love, plunge into the feeling head first, not fearing the fall. ~~~~

You love him so much it wounds you, tears a gash after gash into your flesh. He warms your heart as much as the blood that seeps from the wounds, wetting your body and the bed under you, painting everything red in its way. Red is the colour of love and you wouldn't trade the hues of crimson for anything, even if they smother you, even if they suffocate you, even if all the blood that pours from your body, from your lips, from your nose drowns you.

 

 


End file.
